


Well That's a Sort of Way to Declare Love

by kingLATRANS



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I NEED AWARDS, M/M, Sort of temporary character death, THERES KISSING THOUGH, but not really, hes not dead, i guess?, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 13:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingLATRANS/pseuds/kingLATRANS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' legs were folded halfway under himself, halfway along the man's side, under a thickly corded arm. It was like in the Sleeping Beauty movie. When he fell asleep, he was still crying.</p><p>"Stiles." And when he woke up he was drooling. "Stiles, wake up."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well That's a Sort of Way to Declare Love

**Author's Note:**

> Yes. Apparently i hardly like to write anything significant.  
> Anything good isn't anywhere near finished, and i can't stay focused

            "Hey, hey," Stiles repeated frantically. His hands were framing Derek's face. Finger tips shaking, jittering across the wolf's temples and the corners of his lips. "De-Derek, hey, Der-you're, you're gonna be alright, okay? We're- you're gonna-" His voice hiccupped, his breathing faltered.

            Derek was on his back. He wasn't moving, wasn't breathing. As far as Stiles could tell he didn't have a pulse, either. So he was lying on his back, skin drained of color. His dark grey t-shirt was now black, soaked with blood and smothering his chest with as much force as possible.

 

            "Derek, hey- Derek I need- I need you to- goddamnit." He sucked in a shaky breath. Harsh shuddering noise. Palming at one of his eyes and pulling the hand away wet. He used it to brush across Derek's forehead. Stuttering an inhale, catching his lip in between his teeth. "Derek, I.... Fuck. This, this is. Oh my, god."

            Stiles ran the salt-wet hand through the man's dark hair. He chuckled to himself. It was softer than he'd imagined. Though you could tell it still had the hair gel previously mucked through it, probably that very morning, as well. He let out a whimper then a small gasp. Tears practically sprinting down his face now in waves. Derek is lying in the dirt. Dead grass, leaves, bunched along the floor. Why is he thinking about Derek's hair right now? Why is he still with Derek? A dead Derek. He should call the others. They're elsewhere, fending off imps, pushing them away from the Hale territory. He should, but he can't. Doesn’t necessarily want to.

 

            "Oh my godddd." He dragged, emotionally exhausted. Wiped out. He slowly begins to lean onto the body. Significantly less heated than usual. A few seizured huffs and he was out. Sleeping on a dead man's chest whom he might’ve possibly had really intense feelings for. Face in the dip on its clavicle, arms around, framing his head. Those tear stained fingers still woven through Derek's hair. Stiles' legs were folded halfway under himself, halfway along the man's side, under a thickly corded arm. It was like in the Sleeping Beauty movie. When he fell asleep, he was still crying.

 

            "Stiles." And when he woke up he was drooling. "Stiles, wake up." and that. That voice. That hard, yet light, very dead voice. His eyes snapped open, his head snapped up, and his heart snapped into a high speed rhythm. "Are you alright?" And that was Derek. That was Derek talking. Derek making noises with his mouth. His moving mouth with his moving lungs with his moving heart and moving everything. It was Derek's face making an insulting expression. Derek's whole being vibrating the air and the earth and the universe with insults. It was Derek alive. "Stiles," It was Derek  looking at him like he was stupid.

 

            "Fuck you." Groaned the boy, pulling his face onto the wolf's. He pushed his lips against Derek's lips, and Derek’s cheeks and Derek’s forehead and nose, and back onto his lips with fervor. Derek made a noise a surprised, but pleased, hum through their mouths. Stiles responded by kissing deeper and deeper until he had to pull back for breath. Gasping as Derek attempted to chase Stiles’ mouth with his own, until he held his fingertips to Derek's chin; pushed his forehead onto the other's, air catching multiple times. "If you die one more time," he warned in a lazy, yet sad tone. His open hand turned into a stiff finger, tapping in a vague assertion of authority.

 

            "Won't happen again." The man stated unconvincingly, eyes locked onto Stiles'. On Stiles' flushed face. He could still feel the tacky tracks of tears. There was sticky, drying, and flakey blood on his shirt. Must’ve been on the side of his face, too, plastering his short hair in all directions. The shirt, he remembers, Derek’s bloody and really disgusting shirt.

 

            "You- how,…"

 

            "The things," he waved his finger in circles, "the poison, it does that. It would have killed you, but…"

 

            "The super wolf healing. The kick start, with the arrows." Stiles proposed all too solemnly for what the actual words were. He shifted his head to the side of Derek's, huddling around him, breathing slowly and closing his eyes. Derek was alive. God only knows how many more times he'll be able to say that.

 

            "Yeah," Derek says, just above a whisper, like he was thinking the same thing. Bringing his hand up to Stiles' back, smoothing circles across the material.


End file.
